Oracle
by JadziaVu
Summary: Not every hero is born. Some rise from the ashes of a past they would give anything to erase. When Gotham's most feared criminal mastermind discovers the dark secret of Arkham's newest resident, he wastes no time. So much to be done.
1. Sales Tax

"Oracle, are you there? Barbara?"

The silent static on the line lead Bruce to believe the line had been cut in the final fight with Clay Face.

"I'm here, Batman", the quiet voice finally answered into his earbud. "He's…he's gone isn't he?"

The Dark Knight sighed, exhausted by the night's long events. So much had happened in the last few hours within Arkham City's rusted gates.

"Yeah", he confirmed finally, heading the vehicle that was parked and waiting for him just outside the boundary to freedom. "Yeah, he's dead. Hard to believe." Another silence filled the wavering static on the line. "I couldn't have done it without you, Barb. It's a shame justice couldn't have been better served, but maybe this is how it had to be."

He thought he heard her choke slightly through her light chuckle, "Yeah. Maybe."

"Give the all clear to Nightwing for me, will you? I'm going home. 'Nap' doesn't even begin to cover the amount of sleep I think I am going to need after this whole ordeal."

"Right away, Bruce."

The line was disconnected shortly from the other end. It occurred to the vigilante that his information broker, and former fighting partner, was behaving rather strangely given the situation. The Joker was dead, this should be a time for the world to celebrate, most of all Gotham. And as much as Bruce had expected the woman to celebrate herself, he couldn't help but pick up the subtle solemness of her tone. On the drive to the manor, a transmission came in through the dash. Bruce placed a dingy, gloved finger to the panel, "Dick", he answered wearily.

"Bruce, what the hell happened out there tonight?"

He chuckled, "It's a long story."

"No, I mean, Barbara's all upset."

"What?"

"Yeah, she called to let me know you were headed back, gave me the scoop on Joker, then burst into tears. She was inconsolable, I couldn't even make out what she was saying."

Batman pulled into the hidden drive alongside his extravagant home, heading toward the concealed security entrance to the Batcave to park his car for the night. His brows furrowed beneath his protective mask as he listened to his sidekick. "I'm not sure. She's been through a lot with me tonight, maybe she just needs some rest."

"I don't know, maybe I should go by and see her. Make sure she's okay."

The pair had begun officially dating in recent months, though their complicated relationship dated back many years, to when the troubled young woman had been first brought to the home of Gotham's dark vigilante. Dick had fallen fast, Barbara had nearly broken his jaw. To say they had come a long way would be an understatement, but he had stuck beside her through every milestone of the intensive and painful rehabilitation for her severed spinal cord, creating a bond that no one could break.

"Whatever you think is best", Bruce sighed. Without something to distract him, he feared the nightmares and tortured thoughts that awaited him in his large, empty bed tonight. He had watched the woman he loved die in his arms tonight, an image that no amount of psychoanalysis would ever be able to remove. The tightness crept around his chest, impinging his breath.

"I'll check it out", Dick said before disconnecting his line.

The prospect of the long ascent up the grand staircase was much too daunting a task to face, so instead, Bruce had settled rather uncomfortably into his favorite chair in the study. A crackling fire illuminated the room and played shadow puppets on the wall around him while he stared into the flickering light. The inclination to return to the dingy streets for the rest of the dark hours was enticing, though his limbs protested in a pounding fashion.

"Saved the day again, did you, Suh?" the English voice of his oldest friend echoed in the empty room. The butler scuttled toward him, carrying an assortment of bite-sized refreshments and a small cup of hot tea upon a silver platter. He set in down onto the marble-topped table next to the chair with a small grin. "I take it your victories do not come without a price."

Bruce grinned slightly. Alfred was such a wise man.

"Talia's gone. I lost her", was all he could manage before the tightness traveled into his vocal cords. A few deep breaths relieved the tension long enough for him to continue with his plaguing thoughts outloud, "Barbara's behaving strangely. Dick's gone to check on her."

"Post-traumatic stress, Suh?"

Batman waved his hand dismissively, "Who knows anymore. She can be such a handful sometimes."

The butler handed over the tea and a biscuit before clearing his throat quietly. "Or perhaps", he started as he turned to walk away, "you are not the only one in Gotham City who paid the price for victory tonight... with their heart."

**_Ten Years Earlier_**

The Good Doctor was coming along nicely. It was almost too easy, boring even. He'd have easily lost interest by now if it weren't for the nagging desire to seal the deal that was tucked into the darkened corner of his subconscious. Harley Quinn. She would be his masterpiece, his most priced work of art. He would dissect her psyche like soft icecream with a heated, metal scoop. Even a man like Hugo Strange would have to stand in awe of his exquisite abilities to warp and manipulate her simplistic and fragile human mind. No amount of scantily earned college credit could protect the young, naïve intern from what he had in store, and he would delight in tearing her apart. The thought sparked a moment of excitement in him, and he smile a toothy, yellow, Cheshire grin in the dark.

The large, metal, security doors to the asylum opened with an exaggerated creek, drawing his attention away from his thoughts. The pale man rested quietly on his small cot, disinterested in the wandering midnight security guard who would surely stop to gawk in at his long frame, uttering obscenities and useless insults. The sound of chains dragging on concrete surface, however, was something he had not expected to hear. His spine stiffened slightly, turning his head to focus auditory energies on the scratching approach of the wing's newest resident. Lifting his long arms slowly, he folded them behind his emerald crown of short strands, tilting his pointed chin downward to better take in the view allowed to him through his reinforced glass container.

A pair of Arkham guards moved into sight, each clenching hold of a delicate arm bound in fabric. The man cringed as he watched. Straight jackets were the confines of hell, how he hated them. He might have felt pity for the girl if it weren't for the keen satisfaction he derived from watching the less fortunate endure the torture he was overjoyed to avoid. Better her than him. Long, firey hair trailed down the inmate's small back in tufts of tangled mess. He had yet to catch a glimpse of her features, though he was fairly certain she would be no more important than any of the other loonies who inhabited these dank hallways, rotting away in their musky cells. If anything, watching her churn and wither in her cell would give him something to look at for a while during the long, silent nights.

Once inside, the cuffs and jacket were carefully removed. Her cell was locked, and the bulky guards retreated back to their late-night shows and cold pizza. The man lifted his head, intrigued to gather a better view of the red-headed girl across the hall. She was young. So _very_ young. Either time had aged her well, or she must not be much older than eighteen. In a new peak of interest, he sat forward on his hardened cot, swiveling his lanky thighs over the edge to rest his large, bony feet upon the cold floor. His dark, green eyes never left her form as he stood slowly, moving like a pale, white ghost toward the front of his cage to stare at her. She stood at the barrier of her own dingy vista as he approached, red lashes fluttering with the raise of her blue eyes to meet his. An eternity passed between them, but her gaze never faltered. She maintained an unblinking challenge to his harsh visual scrutiny, almost seamlessly, until his head flew back to release the mad cackle from within. The sudden act caused the young girl to startle, blue eyes sparkling behind widened lids in the dim light.

"Hey!" a voice called from down the hall, "Quiet down there, Clown!"

The Joker's breathless trail of sinister giggles decrescendoed off into a vibrating chuckle within his chest. Not because the guard had demanded it of him, but because his focus had now returned to the object of his interest. He watched her swallow the dry lump in her delicate throat, taking several attempts to push the bolus down. Satisfied with his introduction the grinning figured turned slowly, pinning his sights onto the thin redhead until the full turn forced his eyes to retreat, and returned to his dark cot.

Perhaps this stay in Arkham would not be so entirely dull, he thought as he rested onto the hard mattress. Oh, how he did enjoy kicking the occasional looking glass, trapping the Alice forever inside.


	2. Fair Trade

Thursday. Otherwise known as Group Therapy Day for the members of B Wing at Gotham's Arkham Asylum, and by far the most enjoyable of activities for the location's darkest Clown Prince. He hummed an eerie tune as the two burly guards escorted him toward the Recreation Room where he would join the others. He would lounge lazily in his uncomfortable, metallic, foldout chair, listening to the pathetic sob stories of a childhood gone wrong. Or perhaps today it would be the tragic tale of a lover scorned. His favorites, of course, were the sincere, non-apologetic recounts of a violent pastime told in gruesome and particularly enjoyable detail. Not to mention, this would be the first session in which his silent new across-the-hall neighbor would be joining them. The man was practically salivating to know what delicious details the young girl would share about her sorted past.

Why was she here? What had she done? How long was she sentenced? And better yet, how could he use this information to torment her into a deep void of no return?

Upon entering the Rec Room the other inmates were seated in typical silence, shifting nervously in their seats as The Joker was placed into his usual area of the circle. His green eyes scanned the pow wow; no redhead to be seen. That is, besides the insufferable nuisance of a plant-brained, imitation Mother Earth sitting directly across from him. How he hated that woman. The toothy grin faded slowly from his face, melting into a sneer of distain. The moon eyed girl was nowhere to be found, and the lovely Dr. Quinzel was already beginning the session. The Joker sunk low into his seat, hugging his straight-jacketed arms close to his body with a heavy pout.

"How 'bout you start us off today, Mistah J?", the meandering, high-pitched voice trailed his way, making him cringe.

He turned his face slowly, eyeing her narrowly beneath his lids, "Not today, sweet cheeks. Stomach ache."

The blonde doctor tilted her head affectionately, "Awww, I'm sorry ya feel bad, Mistah J. Would you like ta go back to your cell?"

The Joker opened his mouth for a second, sitting on the verge of agreeing with her, when the door swung open. The circle of inmates glanced around as a duo of guards lead the shuffling, small frame of a redheaded girl into the room. She hung her head, oblivious to the huge smile and glittering green eyes that were now following her every step. The Joker sat up straight in his chair, delighted to see his neighbor join their group. For three days he had been watching her from his cell. She sat silently in the floor of her padded room for hours each day, knees hugged to her chest, eyes staring blankly across at the dingy, soft wall across from her. Emotionless. Soulless. Intriguing.

"Oh, here she is!", the Doctor sang in her shrieking tone. "I was beginnin' ta worry!"

"Sorry, Dr. Quinzel, she was finishin' up a thera-shock session. Can't interrupt those, ya know", the guard apologized in a detached tone.

The entire room shuddered empathetically as the young girl slowly took her seat directly across from the giddily grinning clown. Their pale features seemed to reflect upon one another, radiating in the hovering lamp light. The guard turned to leave, and the doctor outstretched her arm in his direction.

"Hang on, Hank. Mistah J? Didya wanna-"

"-Feeling a hundred percent better, Doc! Those big blues of yours must have done the trick. If only they could find a way to squeeze them into a fine elixir, I'd be a cured man."

The blonde doctor tried to conceal the beet red hue of her cheeks as she checked the charts in her hand, "Alrighty then, would'ya care ta start us off? OH! Hang on, I nearly forgot. Where are my manners? Everyone, this is Alice. She'll be joining us for a while and I'd like you all ta make her feel right at home. She's new, so no funny business. That is, of course", her eyes melted onto the man of her unsuccessfully hidden affections, "unless it's _actually_ funny."

He winked at her with a smile, "Why is a raven, eh Doc?"

Her fingertips played at her ruby red lips as she suppressed a school-girlish giggle, "Exactly."

Alice. Of course her name would be Alice, why wouldn't it be. It was all just too perfect to be true. The excitement of the chase heated a fire in The Joker's belly, and he felt his veins melt to ash as the boiling blood pumped through him, fueled by predatorial adrenaline. His eyes quickly changed focus, resting onto the blankly staring face of his newest target. She was expressionless as a porcelain doll, but he could almost smell her fear from across the room. It was intoxicating.

"Alice, is it?", he tongued slowly. "Welcome, welcome, my dear. I believe introductions must be in order. Starting on your left, we have Plant Brain, Birdman, A Dermatologist's Nightmare, The Indecisive One, He With Many a Redundant Inquiry, and yours truly, star of the show, man of the hour, The Joker. At your service." He did his very best to bow given the constraints of his jacket, which she seemed to be lacking herself today. The girl's blue eyes pierced right through him, almost past him as if she couldn't perceive the reality taking place around her. It irritated him, but he maintained his dark charisma. "So, what's the story, toots? Everyone here has one. Of course, I'm only here for the food and free dry cleaning, but I'd _love_ to hear what brings a sweet little thing like you to a party like this."

The girl didn't flinch a muscle, nor focus her gaze to even acknowledge that he had spoken to her. The muscles bulged in his jaw as he studied her passive expression. It further incensed him, and yet, he had the overwhelming compulsion to press on.

Dr. Quinzel cleared her throat with a squeak, "Perhaps we should begin. Don't feel pressured ta participate this time, Alice, but we'd like ya to become more active in the group as time goes on, mkay?"

The Joker shot a hateful glare to his Project A, seething in his constrictive, belted, garment. A long two hours past, during which time inmates took it in turns telling their various stories. Some were tragic and emotional, others grim and gruesome. Unfortunately, present disappointments disallowed the green-haired prince to enjoy such occasions, given the rejections he had suffered. He'd have given anything to have just five minutes alone with the wretched, disrespectful, shell of a girl across from him. He wouldn't even require weapons. By the end, he'd have her groveling at his feet. The thought at least made him grin. Immediately following the group session, The Joker was scheduled for his daily private session with the blonde doctor who, at the moment, was at the very top of his black list.

"You sure are quiet today, Mistah J", she mentioned from her leather chair, long legs crossed with purposeful seduction beneath her short pencil skirt.

The obvious effort bored him. He turned his head slowly to glare over at her, resting upon his back on the long therapy couch. "Am I? Sorry, pumpkin, but I was under the impression that you were giving out free passes on the blah blah today. Or does little Alice just get special treatment?"

She cocked her head to the side with an affectionate smile, "Alice is a young girl in a scary place. Don'tcha think she deserves ta be integrated slowly?" He huffed like a child who was refused desert. "Besides, she's been through a lot."

"Wah wah, everyone's got their sob stories to tell. If you were any kind of _real_ doctor, you'd let her get hers out in the open and off her freckled little shoulders."

"You say that now, but you'd cringe if I told ya the details."

His eyes shot back toward her with sudden peaked interest, "Oh? And what _is_ her story, Doc?"

"I can't tell _you_!" she gasped. "HIPPA!"

"Who's that?"

"I am morally and ethically obligated by my professional position not ta share a peep of patient information that isn't needed for treatment purposes!"

The Joker sat up and spun to face her, "Oh, yadda yadda with the useless medical garbage, Harley! Don't you see? _We_ can help her. Obviously society has already failed her, right?" She looked pensive. "Come on, my sweet", he cooed, making her blush, "We can treat her like…like our little love child. We'll take good care of her, just you…and _me_."

His voice dropped an octave into the tone that would usually send women clamoring from their seats in search of an escape route, but to Dr. Quinzel, the dark growl made her slick between the thighs. Her breathing made an obvious jump into high gear, heaving the perky breasts beneath her white coat with every inhale. Unable to move from his spot due to the cuffs that tethered his hands and legs to the other side of the room, he beckoned her closer with the slow wriggle of a long, bone white finger. She hardly hesitated, dropping her pad and paper to approach him with wide, blue eyes. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, rather harshly. She groaned between the pleasure and pain of having his large teeth crash into her, nipping painfully at her lips. Cold metal licked the skin of her inner thighs, spreading goosebumps as his hand drew closer to the opening of her skirt. Their secret affair had become more passionate with every passing day, and her body shook with anticipation. He was finally going to touch her.

The doctor's eyes rolled in their sockets at the forceful intrusion of two long digits. He wasted no time in beginning the hard pumping motion that caused her to shudder and moan, dragging her fingers through his green strands. The hairline was receding, but she hardly cared. It made him distinctive, gave him character, much like his long, pointed chin and enticing, wild eyes. Just as she was beginning to reach the point of a maddening, euphoric explosion, he stopped. Her eyes opened to stare blankly back at his, brows furrowing with frustration.

"Now", he whispered with a smile, "how's about that bedtime story, hm?"

"Mistah J", she whined.

"A tah tah…" his fingers slipped from her warmth, elicited another groan of disapproval from her.

"Alright alright! I'll tell ya just…don't stop" she pleaded.

A gravely chuckle echoed through his chest as his fingers resumed their previous occupation. The doctor tried to control her breathing between deep strokes, "Alice…mmm…s'not…not her name."

"No?"

She shook her head, "Bah…oh my god…Barbara. It's Barbara."

"I see."

"Ah…oh…oh Mistah J!"

"Go on."

The peak was rushing upward, only inches away, "Mmnh! Barbara…G-gah!"

"Tell me."

"Ah…oh..mmnh! Gah...

…**_GORDON_**!"


	3. Allies

"Barbara, honey, how are you?" The girl continued to stare at the table as her father addressed her solemnly. The pain in his voice was obvious, and internally, she wanted to comfort him, but the meds made it difficult to interact with the world outside her own cognitive prison. "Damnit, sweetheart…I'm so sorry Barb. I tried to keep you out of this godforsaken place, I really did. I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

Her blue eyes lifted from their mark, finally focusing into his. Tears glistened from his bottom lid, and with incredible effort, she was able to work a small smile onto her dry lips.

"I don't blame you, Daddy. I know you tried", she whispered hoarsely. The salty droplets finally released, trickling down his cheeks and disappearing into his graying mustache as he kissed the back of one of her cuffed hands. "How's Momma?", she asked.

The Commissioner looked hesitant for a moment before answering, "I filed for divorce."

Her brows furrowed, but emotional expression was otherwise difficult, "What?"

"It was a mutual separation, no hard feelings. We just couldn't make it work with everything that's happened. She loves you very much, Barbara, but you have to understand what all this has done to her. She's torn in half."

"She still believes it was me."

"I don't think she knows exactly what to believe anymore, sweetie, and when they sent you here after you turned 18…well, we just can't seem to see eye to eye on things anymore."

How she wished she could cry. The sadness was a terrible gripping deep within her throat, but the tears wouldn't come. A guard from the doorway gave the 5 minute warning, leaving the pair to say their goodbyes. Visitors were only allowed ten short mintues.

"How are you doing in here, Barb? I'm still working on getting you out of this place, I promise." The girl's eyes returned to the table. "Barbara?"

"Please hurry", she whispered, griping his hand tightly in hers until they came to drag her away.

Delicious. It was all so absolutely, unbelievably delicious. Barbara Gordon, the only daughter of Gotham's great commissioner and close, personal friend to the Dork Knight himself, here in Arkham Asylum. The fits of uncontrollable laughter took The Joker intermittently out of nowhere throughout the day as he pondered over the hundreds of possibilities. It was all so perfect, like it had been handed to him by the Devil himself. Had it not been for her continued necessity in his newest plan, the transformation of Harley Quinn may have even escaped his list of hobbies, overshadowed by this fresh and exciting endeavor.

The Clown Prince paced his cell impatiently, awaiting the guards who would transport him to the Rec Room for his one hour stay. Tomorrow would be a week since last Thursday, and Group Therapies would reconvene, but today he would be allowed to interact with the girl as he pleased for the hour ahead. After being placed into the room with the other inmates of B wing, he scanned the room, tugging uncomfortably at his straight jacket. 'Alice', however, was nowhere to be seen. He grumbled in discontent, finding a seat nearest the window where he could watch the only doorway to the room. None of the inmates interacted within the dingy walls, and most of them avoided the Clown as though he carried a flesh eating plague in his toothy grin. He preferred it that way, but the silence gnawed at his nerves.

Minutes later, the doors unlocked and in stepped the expressionless young woman with wild, untamed, red hair; his newest project. The excitement throbbed behind his sternum so loud he could barely hear her chains drag the stained carpet as she walked past him to the shelf full of old books. He stared her down with a shameless grin while she took her time in deciding on a story that would distract her mind for an hour, ignoring his gaze as she found a seat in the large, musky chair situated in the back corner of the room. She turned her body sideways in the chair, bringing her knees to her chest. Her small body fit perfectly between the armrests as she read, leafing through each page casually from her solitary corner.

The Joker studied her like a specimen in a dish, thoroughly interested in every breath she took, every move she made. He analyzed her body language, her expressions, what made her tick, searching for a way beneath her skin. It would need to be done delicately, of that he was certain. He growled as a large Arkham guard entered the room, impeding his view as he sauntered over to the girl on his thick, tree trunk thighs. It was impossible to hear what he said to her even in the maddening silence of the room, but her reaction to his mere presence spoke in volumes. He reached out a hand, running the back of his large fingertips along her pale shoulder. She jerked away from his touch with a hateful glare which threatened worse than death should he dare touch her again. A chuckle rumbled through the clown's chest. She was quite the little spitfire.

Another attempt to touch her set off a chain of reactions that had the man bouncing in his chair with amusement. The hardback book went flying through the air, catching the guard forcefully beneath the chin and sending him stumbling backward. A pale, bare foot flew out, striking his groin, bringing him crashing to his knees. Another swing of the book splattered blood from his nose and onto the white wall of the corner. His towering body fell back onto the floor while he used his arms as his only defense against the madwoman who now stood over him, slamming the corner of the heavy book down onto him repeatedly. As she raised it another time, the guard found the opportunity to shoot a defensive blow into her stomach. She crunched into a ball of pain, coughing and crouching to the floor. Just as the guard though he had the upper hand, however, the shrieking clown was over him, kicking and laughing.

The pair of orderlies that entered the room took down The Joker first, planting his bare bottom with a strong sedative which took near immediate effect. He maintained consciousness just long enough to witness the same act being done to his thrashing partner in their recent crime. She was kicking, biting, pleading. Her cries sang in his brain as the black circles slowly took him.

"No! Please, no, NO! I'll be good! I'll be good!"

Solitary confinement was nothing to be afraid of. In fact, the food tasted a little better for some strange reason. But the headache that followed the sedative, what a nightmare. The Joker awoke face down on the padded floor, his face sticky in the pool of his own saliva. It was impossible to wipe clean in his straightjacket confines, and his brain throbbed as though it would leap from his skull. Next door, he could make out the definite sounds of a good thrashing, along with the mingled sobs of a young woman. Under normal conditions, he would be lulled peacefully back to sleep by such sounds, but now was the perfect opportunity being handed right to him. And he would take it.

Standing with all the strength he could muster, The Joker hobbled to the small, barred window in the doorway and began to scream. Over and over his cries rang out like someone was dragging the very soul from his body. The door to the cell next to his opened suddenly, shut, and footsteps retreated swiftly away. The clown ceased his screeching to listen, making out the faint sobs coming through the darkness next door to his right. Satisfied with his accomplishment, the man returned to his place on padded floor of the empty room, smiling in content, and falling deep into to dreams. Lullabied to sleep by the painful cries that echoed through the dark.

Barbara's face throbbed. It had been a relief to finally cry, though she wished it didn't have to be under such painful circumstances. The guard she had beaten in the Rec Room had sought his revenge away from the eyes of Arkham's doctors, and the only thing that stood between the girl and a near assault on her innocence was the mad screaming of her neighbor next door. Blinking hazily in the dark, she could feel that her bright orange, Arkham issued scrub pants were still pulled down below her hips. He hadn't even bothered with replacing them to cover his tracks as he fled from the cell earlier. It was difficult to tell how long ago the events had occurred, but the dull ache in her shoulders suggested she had been in the straightjacket for at least a few hours.

The door at the end of the hall buzzed, allowing entrance to whomever stood on the other side. The sharp, staccato clacking of high heeled shoes echoed through Barbara's dark cell, piercing through her every thought. The sound traveled past her door, stopping at the door to the left of her cell.

A high pitched gasp escaped the woman in heels before she cooed through the bars, "Oh, Mistah J! You poor, poor thing."

It was Dr. Quinzel, Barbara's psychiatrist. The girl struggled on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest to rise onto her feet. It was difficult without the use of her arms, and her throbbing cheek rubbed the padded floor as she moved into an awkward fetal position. Rising from a kneel, her weak legs shook beneath her, hardly able to carry the girl toward the dim light in the hallway.

"Don't worry, I'll get ya outta here, Puddin'", the doctor promised before turning on her heels to head back toward the security door.

Barbara slammed her body against the bulky, metallic door of her cell as the woman passed, "DOCTOR QUINZEL!"

The blonde woman screeched a sound of sudden alarm and leapt back a few feet, clutching her chest through her white coat. It took her a moment to catch her breath. She adjusted her glasses and swallowed down the lump in her through before responding to the girl behind the bars.

"Good golly miss molly, Alice, you scared the bajeezus outta me."

Barbara's busted lower lip trembled in the shadows, "Pl-please, doctor. Please get me out of here. I'm so sorry."

Dr. Quinzel sighed, "I heard ya caused quite the scene down in the Rec Room yesterday, Alice. You know the rules – "

"But you just said you would get the Clown out! He was involved, too!"

A dark chuckled echoed in from the room next door.

"Mistah J was a victim of circumstance. It was _you_ who instigated the situation."

"NO! That guard, he tried to rape me. He won't stop until – "

"What?"

The girl pressed her face as close to the bars as she could manage, fighting for the lamplight above, "Look, look!"

Dr. Quinzel stepped forward, squinting her eyes for better inspection, "Oh mah god."

"Please help me", the redhead pleaded again.

The woman's entire demeanor seemed to change as she studied the girl's face. Pensively, she took a few slow steps backward, looked to her right at The Joker's cell door, then turned without another word to head back through the door to freedom. Barbara wasn't sure what to think of her reaction. Despair overcame her and she rested her pounding head onto the cool bars, closing her eyes as a few hot droplets escaped and fell onto the dirty floor. A few silent moments passed as the girl continued to sob, comforted only by the slightest possibility that she may have found an ally in Dr. Quinzel.

"There there, my dear", came the low grumble of the familiar voice next door. "Stiff upper lip and all that, you're not alone in here, you know."

Barbara lifted her head to stare out into the partially illuminated darkness, moist streaks painted down her pale features. "Why did you help me?"

The man sounded hurt, "I was merely trying to protect you, sweet Alice. Arkham can be a real jungle. No young girl should be left to face it alone."

"What do you want from me?"

The chuckled echoed in again, and the wide smile on his face was audibly apparent, "Just see me as a caring mentor. No one would dare place a finger on one of The Joker's prized possessions."

"Nobody owns me! I don't need your help."

The octave of his voice dropped, but the smile remained, "I understand if you need some time to adjust to the fact, but don't worry, I'll take good care of you, Ace."


End file.
